“It will be more improper if I fall asleep and drown in your bathtub, Mrs. Wilkins.”
“Which is highly unlikely. But you’re the sheriff,” she added. She picked up the stack of linens, sat on the chair, and parked the towels in her lap. “What’s going to happen to that man who stole the horse?” she asked.
He sipped his tea and found it surprisingly pleasant. “He’s going to jail.” Why was she talking about Covey, for God’s sake?
“That’s sad. He looked young.”
“He’s twenty-three, and he’s been a troublemaker since childhood. He’s had ample opportunity to change his ways. Covey chose his path, and it’s led him straight to prison. And it’s about damned time.”
“I take it you’ve dealt with him before?”
“Many times. Five weeks ago Covey walked out of Taylor Hotel and stole a horse belonging to one of the guests. When I caught him in the act, he ran the horse at me like he did today in the park. I made the mistake of grabbing the horse’s bridle instead of Covey. When the horse reared, it jerked my arm up and wrenched my shoulder. Covey got away with the horse, which he promptly sold.”
“And you got a nasty shoulder injury.”
“Doesn’t feel so bad at the moment.”
She smiled. “I told you the bath would help.”
“Maybe it’s your pretty smile that’s making me feel better.” What the hell? Why not enjoy his visits? He was attracted to her, and he could keep his duty separate from his personal business with Faith. And just to make sure he didn’t get preoccupied and miss something, he would make that call on Anna Levens and ask her to visit the greenhouse.
Faith’s lashes swooped down to cover her eyes.
“I meant to compliment you, not embarrass you.”
She straightened the stack of linens on her lap, and asked: “What made you want to be a sheriff?”
So much for compliments. “I wanted to redeem myself in my father’s eyes.”
Her lashes swept upward, her face lit with interest.
“It’s true,” he said, wanting to take their conversation to a personal level, admitting and accepting that he couldn’t resist her shy smile and pretty whiskey-colored eyes. He flexed his shoulders in the warm water, enjoying the heat that had nearly cooked his bacon earlier. “I was eight years old when I committed my first and last crime. I stole a reel of fishing line from Brown & Shepherd’s store.”
“Well, that explains why you went easy on Adam.”
“Mrs. Brown has had more wayward boys working in her store to pay their debts than any store owner in town. I wasn’t the first boy to work off my mistake. I’d wager that Adam won’t be the last.”
“Did the sheriff make you work to pay for what you took?”
“My father did. He told me nothing can justify lying, cheating, or stealing. I promised him I’d live an honorable life from that day on, and I went right to the sheriff’s office and volunteered to be his deputy”
She smiled as if she appreciated his boyhood sincerity.
“The sheriff was kind enough not to laugh at me. He let me run errands for him when I wasn’t in school or working at my dad’s sawmill. When I turned fourteen, he had me sit as guard on weekends. Mostly I guarded an empty cell, or sometimes a local drunk who’d gotten tossed out of a saloon. I spent most nights reading law books. I got my deputy’s badge when I turned seventeen.”
“Your father allowed this?”
“I had spent nine years running errands for the sheriff, babysitting drunks, and studying law to get that badge. Dad knew how much I wanted to wear it.”
“But that badge put you in danger.”
“The sheriff kept me away from the nasty side of the job until I was nineteen. I helped him track down a bank robber. We put the man in jail, and I earned the sheriff’s respect. When he took a job in Buffalo four years later, he pushed me to run for the sheriff’s job. I won the election.”
“That must have been a proud day for your dad.”
“It would have been, but he didn’t live long enough to see me pin on my sheriff’s badge.”
She brought her hand to her chest. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize.”
Her compassion warmed him. Having lost her husband and mother, she must understand how the loss of his father tortured him.
“Dad died knowing I was fulfilling my promise to live an honorable life. I think that was enough for him.”
“I’m sure it was,” she said, but her eyes filled with sadness. “You can leave the bath now, Sheriff.”
As he inched himself out of the water, her gaze dropped from his shoulders to his chest to his waist. He took his time, wanting her to look, wanting to know if she felt the vibrations traveling between them, because for all his good intentions, he wanted to do more than investigate her business.
When his hips cleared the water, she vaulted from the chair and put her back to him. Laying two thick towels over the table, she asked, “Do you mind waiting to dress? It’ll make it easier to massage your back.”
He wouldn’t mind at all. He’d like nothing better than to help her out of her clothes and into the tub with him. “Maybe you should stretch my shoulder, too.”
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I would recommend it, but it’s up to you.”
Forcing his sore muscles to stretch was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t wait for his shoulder to improve on its own. Resigned, he sat on the table. “Let’s get it over with.”
o0o
“You’ll have to lie on your back,” Faith said, then turned herself away while he did so. When she turned back, she opened another linen and draped it over Duke’s hips and legs.
The sheriff glanced down and back up. “What’s that for?”
“I don’t want you catching a chill,” she explained. But she was the one shivering. Lord, she had to get away from this half- naked warrior. “Sheriff, I . . . I think Iris can do a better job with your shoulder,” she said.
“I don’t want Iris.”
“But she’s better at—”
He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. “I want you.”
She looked down at his handsome, water-speckled face, and couldn’t force another word from her throat.
“My name is Duke.”
He spoke softly, but she heard the command behind his words, and saw the hunger in his eyes. This man wanted more than a massage.
“May I call you Faith?” he asked.
Her flutter-birds beat their wings in panic. He was flat on his back, but the sheriff could easily overpower her. He could make her life hell, run her out of town even, but it wasn’t his strength or position she was afraid of—it was her sense of being out of control, of being governed by her body rather than her brain. She should never have offered to treat his shoulder.
“May I?” he prodded.
“It’s inappropriate, Sheriff. We’re just partners in healing your shoulder.”
“I like the partners part.”
Lord, there was nothing to do but get this over with as quickly as possible. She slipped her fingers around his wrist and lifted his arm at the elbow to form a right angle. “I need to stretch your muscles while they’re warm and relaxed.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “All right. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
She worked silently and slowly, wincing when he grunted, biting her lip when she saw perspiration bead on his forehead, battling her own tears when the corners of his eyes grew moist from pain. She rotated his forearm to the side, and returned it slowly. Then she straightened his arm and lifted it above his head, pressing and pushing his stiff muscles to stretch until neither of them could bear it a moment longer. With her breath held, she lowered his arm in tiny increments, sighing with relief when she finally laid his arm to rest beside him.
His broad chest shuddered as he exhaled, but his eyes remained closed and he didn’t move.
She spooned balm into her hand and warmed it in her palms before smoothing the th
ick ointment over the front of his shoulder. With gentle strokes, she rubbed it down his biceps muscle to his elbow and forearm. The tension in his body ebbed slowly away, his breathing growing less ragged as she walked her fingertips across his muscles.
“Roll over, Sheriff, and I’ll do your back.”
He didn’t say a word, didn’t open his eyes, didn’t even argue about his name. He just rolled onto his good arm and over onto his stomach, twisting the linen around his waist—and leaving his firm buttocks in full view of her greedy eyes.
Did he realize . . . ? Had he done this on purpose?
Faith whisked a linen off the dwindling stack, snapped it open, and draped it over the enticing distraction. He wasn’t the first undressed male she’d seen, but he was by far the most affecting. Her hands were sweating!
“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice muffled in the scrunched linens.
“I’m getting more balm,” she said, but her heart pounded so hard her voice quaked. Would he feel her trembling?
She slathered the ointment over his broad back and forced her thoughts to the methodical process of weeding her garden, one section at a time, one plant at a time. She kneaded his muscles and imagined her hands working the soil. The scent of herbs, oils, and resins rose from the bath and his damp skin. She pressed the heels of her palms at the base of his spine and pushed them up his back as if she were creating furrows for seeding.
He moaned low in his throat. She hesitated.
“Did that hurt you?”
“It felt even better than the bath.”
A smile tugged her lips. “I knew you’d like it.”
“This or the bath?”
“The bath.”
“I did. But your hands feel better.”
She had no idea how to respond without encouraging or offending him, so she kept silent.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
“In my garden,” she said, uncertain if his question was sincere interest or intentional probing. “Working muscles is similar to working the soil. Planting and weeding take patience and practice. After a while your hands learn what to do without needing instruction from your brain.”
“Thank God you’re not a blacksmith who manipulates iron with fire and hammers.”
His analogy made her laugh. “Do your brothers have your unique sense of humor?”
“Unique?”
“Teasing. A bit cryptic. Sometimes a tad odd.”
His lips quirked. “I preferred unique.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked me to clarify.”
He chuckled. “We’re as different from each other as a willow is from a poplar or an aspen or a cottonwood. Same family, very different trees.”
She leaned on the heels of her palms and moved them up his back. “You and your brothers look remarkably alike.”
“Trees are trees. Men are men. The difference is in their grain. My oldest brother Radford is a deep thinker and peaceful man. But he’s the only man I’d ever steer clear of. When he came home from the war, you could look in his eyes and feel tortured by the pain he was carrying. He wouldn’t even pick up a gun to go hunting with us. Still won’t, and it’s been fifteen years. But he’s not so jumpy since he married Evelyn.”
Faith nodded. “She has a way of making a person feel like a friend the minute you meet her.”
“She does, but she was engaged to my brother Kyle when she fell in love with Radford.”
“Oh, dear, what a horrid situation for them and your family!”
“It was tough. Kyle was so enraged when Evelyn broke their engagement, he tore into Radford. By the time Boyd and I got to the livery, Radford was so out of his mind he nearly killed Kyle. He—” The sheriff lifted his head. “If this is boring you, I can stop.”
“No. I’m intrigued. Really,” she insisted. And she was.
“Then please don’t stop working on that muscle. It’s just beginning to un-cramp.”
She hadn’t realized she’d stopped massaging his back. Amazing, but his story had shifted her mind away from touching his bare skin. “I’ll massage as long as you talk.” She pressed her thumbs into the hard latissimus dorsi muscle and used deep, slow strokes to release the tension.
“Best offer I’ve had in years,” he said with a sigh.
She massaged for several seconds then paused. “Moaning doesn’t count as talking.”
His lip quirked up.
“Let me put a cool towel around your shoulders while you finish your story” She worked the pump and soaked one of the remaining linens, then wrung the excess water into the tub. “Brace yourself,” she said, then draped it over his shoulders.
He sucked in his breath. “Good God, woman! The shock just stopped my heart.”
She choked back a laugh. “Are you going to finish your story, or should I stop massaging your back and let you get dressed?”
“It’s not a pretty story.”
“I wasn’t expecting one.”
“All right. When Radford realized what he’d done to Kyle, he fell apart. He couldn’t eat or sleep. He had nightmares that woke the house. One night it scared Rebecca so badly that she ran out of the house in her nightdress and bare feet. It was winter, and she was only four.”
“Wait a minute. How can . . . Evelyn and Radford weren’t married yet.”
“Another woman gave birth to Rebecca shortly after Radford was mustered out of his regiment. Apparently she didn’t want a baby or a husband, so she left Rebecca with Radford and disappeared.”
“That poor little girl.”
“Rebecca found a loving mother in Evelyn. There’s always been a special bond between the two of them.”
“I noticed that in church this morning. They’re both so pretty and have such lovely hair, I thought they were mother and daughter.”
“They are.”
No two words could have touched Faith more deeply. Tears blurred her eyes, and she looked toward the ceiling and blinked to keep them from dropping onto his back.
“If it wasn’t for Evelyn and Rebecca, I don’t think Radford would have pulled himself back from the past.”
Faith swallowed her sadness. “War would scar any man.”
“And leave some men so tortured they have to fight another war to get their life back. Radford had to do that when he came home.”
“Did Kyle ever forgive him?” she asked.
“Kyle is as stubborn as they come, but yes, after stewing a while, he forgave Radford.”
“So Kyle’s a stubborn but forgiving man?”
“And the rock in our family. He kept our sawmill running and held everything together when my dad died.”
“For some reason I see you in that position.”
He peered at her from the corner of his eye. “Kyle was the boss. I was the peacekeeper. My younger brother Boyd was the one who made us laugh. Even when we wanted to pound him—and Kyle always wanted to pound him—Boyd could make us laugh. He still does.”
“Hmm . . . I’m beginning to understand your analogy about trees and their grain. Your mother raised a deep-thinker, a rock, a jester, and a peacekeeper. Sounds like she had her hands full.”
He laughed. “Which is exactly why my father made me promise to keep the peace and hold our family together.”
“Which makes me more irritated that your brothers didn’t help you today, or at least allow that other man to step in.”
“That other man was Wayne Archer and he was looking to earn himself some votes for the upcoming election for sheriff.”
“He’s running against you?” she asked in surprise.
“And would have liked nothing better than to prove me incompetent in front of all those people watching. My brothers showed great restraint and respect by letting me handle that situation alone.”
“I hadn’t thought . . . I’m sorry I judged them without knowing the politics involved.”
“Does that mean you were concerned about me?” he asked, rolling onto his back.
/> Panic kept her gaze locked on his face. God only knew if that towel was covering him. “I would be concerned about anyone in a fight.”
He gripped her balm-soaked fingers. “Can I call on you this evening?”
“I . . . of course, Sheriff. I can give you another treatment at nine o’clock if the time suits you.”
He rocked upward and swung his legs off the table, then slid off and stood beside her. “I’m not asking for a shoulder treatment, Faith. My call would be personal, to allow us time to become better acquainted.”
Oh, Lord . . . Iris would be ecstatic, but Faith was terrified. She could never tell where this man was going with his questions and those private looks that were growing more heated by the minute; but worse, she had no idea how she would respond, because one smile from him could melt her kneecaps. And was that towel still hooked around his waist?
He squeezed her hands. “I would like to court you.”
“Oh . . . I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
He brought her palms to his thudding, hair-covered chest, shocking her, thrilling her. “I’ve never felt this way about a woman. And I think your heart is banging out the same message.”
It was thudding so hard she couldn’t breathe. Hope, fear, and a desperate need to feel his mouth on hers kept her palms pressed to his hard, warm chest.
“Did I misunderstand Iris when she said you were looking for a husband?”
She shook her head. She longed for a noble, handsome, and tender man with strong, protective arms to welcome Adam and Cora, and keep them safe. She wanted a man like the sheriff to hold her against his warm body and love her, but she wasn’t worthy of a man like him. “I’m not sure we would suit.”
“Let’s find out.” He dipped his head and pressed his warm, firm lips to hers.
She felt as if she kissed the sun. His hot mouth melted her. The birds in her stomach scattered sideways then swept upward en masse to fly in a frenzied circle that left her breathless and dizzy
His arms encircled her, his heart pounding against her palms, a low moan vibrating in his throat as he deepened the kiss. She’d heard that same intimate sound when massaging his back, when her hands gave him pleasure. To hear it now while he was kissing her, while he held her against his hard, naked chest thrilled and frightened her. He was too big, too strong, too . . . umm . . . gentle . . . and tender. His tongue delved into her mouth, slow and insistent, sparking a fire deep in her belly.
Wendy Lindstrom Page 9
